


gratitudes

by coalas



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Everybody Lives, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-War, tagging this just in case because i'm not optimistic about future developments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coalas/pseuds/coalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, Link," Allen interrupts his thoughts, slurring his words when exhaustion sweeps over his body once more. </p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Can you make me a pie when I get better? If it isn't too much trouble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	gratitudes

Allen closes his eyes, sinking his head into the pillow with a soft sigh while Link flips absentmindedly through the pages of his notebook. It's as if nothing's changed, he thinks, other than a soon-to-be collection of new scars and the fact that there are no more battles to be fought. It's still too early to process that the hell they've been through for so long is finally over, even if there are reminders everywhere they look at. The concept of "all the time in the world" has become tangible, so much he has no idea how to start using it.

"Hey, Link," Allen interrupts his thoughts, slurring his words when exhaustion sweeps over his body once more.

"Hm?"

"Can you make me a pie when I get better? If it isn't too much trouble," he chuckles.

Link's eyes dart from his notes to the boy's pale, bruised face, and he doesn't even bother holding back a snort. Allen's lips curl upwards in response to the sound, despite his weariness. His weak laughter blends with the heavy pattering of the raindrops outside, and the cold light from the window bathes his form.

 _"Of course"_ , Link wants to say, slowly drifting into the dreamlike calmness of their situation. _"I'll bake more than you can possibly eat"_. Bad idea. Knowing Allen Walker, he would take that as a challenge, no doubt. _"As many as you want. You earned it."_ No, no, that would be too soft an answer. Then again, he muses, it might be just the perfect time to start changing, after an entire youth learning how to make everything about him sharp; from words, to looks, to edges of blades.

"Sure. Just let me know which flavor you want," Link almost, almost smiles, wondering for a fraction of a second if the muscles in his face still remember how to perform such an action with sincerity. It feels strange, after so many years. He hopes the tender inflection in his voice was small enough to go unnoticed, letting his tired gaze rest on Allen's sleep-tousled hair.

"I'll have pumpkin," Allen smiles just before yawning. "Just like that one from when we first met. It was truly delicious. Is that okay?"

"Note taken," Link picks up the journal from his lap and carefully places it on a nearby table, along with his reading glasses, trying not to think too hard upon Allen’s choice of words.

"Great," Allen opens his eyes and tries to stretch his right arm, only to end up wincing in discomfort. "Ugh. Guess it's a bit too soon for that, huh?"

"Don't overdo it," Link says, giving him that familiar stern look, and remains silent.

His eyes start drifting towards the cloudy, drab sky outside the room, but the rustling of sheets makes him stop midway. "I know." Allen turns his head in Link's direction, not moving an inch beyond what his sore body allows, and catches his stare. There are plenty of waning contusions and some healing cuts peek out from under his clothes and bandages, not to mention the ever-vivid scars. "You should follow your own advice a bit more, though."

"I'm doing _fine_ ," Link feels the need to emphasize the last word when Allen does his best effort to raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Anyway, is your arm any better?"

"Not really. I can barely move my fingers. Or feel much at all, if I'm being honest." Link opens his mouth for a moment before pressing his lips tightly together, unsure about saying anything that sounds too hopeful about an eventual recovery. Allen's arm was in a terrible condition; it was only to be expected, after so many years of abuse.

"It's okay, though," Allen replies, noticing his stiff expression. "Wouldn't be the first time, you know. Back when I was a kid, there wasn't a lot I could do with it. I'll just have to get used to it again."

Link looks him in the eye, quietly, and it hits him that a few weeks ago, the probability of them coming out alive of the vicious routine of war was so little he considered he'd be long gone before even turning twenty-three. Yet, here they are, still broken and never to fully heal, but able to try a little every day. Allen blinks once, twice, his own thoughts apparently following the same path as his smile fades.

The stillness of it all creates a heavy ambience that neither wants to address first, even though it almost seems inappropriate to talk about anything but. Running from your _quite literal_ demons doesn't do much to keep them away, Link thinks, feeling something sink in his chest when Allen finally sighs and averts his eyes.

"I think I'll try to get some sleep now. Seems that’s all I do these days, huh,” Allen says.

“Get some rest. That’s all you _have_ to do now,” Link nods, gaze lingering a little longer on his figure before turning his attention to the notebook once more.

A pleasant silence settles around them as the minutes go by, only disturbed by the ceaseless downpour. Link's pretty sure he hears the white-haired boy snore softly some two or three times, though, but it is no inconvenience. He sits straight and reaches for a long-forgotten novel on the nearest bookshelf. It might be a good hobby to take up, he thinks. A nice substitute for the disproportionate paperwork he's grown accustomed to after so many years, not that it was ever pleasant. It just _needed_ to be done, like the greater part of his actions up until now.

Link finds himself a dozen pages into the story when he hears the bed creak softly from the other side of the room. He looks up to find Allen staring at the ceiling, not quite awake, a faint flush adorning his cheeks.

"Link?" he calls out again, a hint of reticence in his drowsy voice.

“Yes?”

"It's just... I wanted to say I'm glad you're sticking around, even though you don't have to keep an eye on me anymore," Allen laughs, seeing Link's brows raise and furrow in surprise. "Thank you."

"You have no need to thank me," Link replies, feeling a mortifying warmth climb up from his chest to his neck. There was only so much looking out for Allen he could blame on his former job, after all, and even that excuse was now way past its expiry date. If only he knew.

(And if only Link knew, Allen thinks, _exactly_ how much more he wants to thank him for. He hopes he'll have long enough to make him comprehend.)

"Still," Allen murmurs, seconds before falling into a slumber.

Link stares at him for another good five minutes before remembering the open book lying across his lap. His face still burns a little when he resumes the reading, trying harder than usual to focus on the novel's budding plot.

If anything, he thinks, he should be the one saying thanks to Allen. For his merits in a war the rest of the world would hopefully never hear about, of course, but mostly for giving back things he’d thought lost forever.

All of the baked goods in the world would never suffice.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a slight AU I've been messing around with in my head these past days. That being said, it's been a long time I haven't written /proper/ fic, especially for DGM, so please bear with me!!  
> I hope to be able to write more about it eventually and also that you'll enjoy this short fic. ♡


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